


Glass Hours

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Truth is delicate, and for as much as Kaito had disfigured his own he has always been so careful with that of others. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>They're not all the way there yet, but they're closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Hours

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Messiah Project_ , nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, canon themes 
> 
> Writing for a new fandom is pretty terrifying, but I love this fandom so I'm happy to have written this. It was something I've been meaning to do for awhile.
> 
> This is set between Hisui and Hagane (closer to Hisui).

* * *

****

The action of Kaito flopping down on the bed beside him is so familiar that his mind barely registers it. The mattress dips and squeaks the same as always. The lamp paints his shadow on the wall, all the lines and angles adding up to the form he knows so well.

The action is the same but the person is different. Of course it’s still Kaito, but it had taken Mamoru by surprise just how much he had missed while partnered with Ariga. When had Kaito begun to shed the foggy wisps of lies he had spun around himself for protection? When had he started to smile again with real warmth and not frigid shards of loss and insanity?

Mamiya had done what Mamoru couldn’t bring himself to do without even knowing it. He’d broken Kaito’s hallucination.

Mamiya didn’t _exist_ in the realm Kaito had created of himself, Haruto, and Mamoru. His presence had not computed for Kaito. No matter how quickly his fingers raced across computer keys he couldn’t delete the reality of another person who had never even heard of his brother. Someone who couldn’t play along. And that had frustrated Kaito at first. Not being able to manipulate people like data into agreeing with his warped reality. But Mamiya had hung in there, through all of the swinging moods and violent reactions seeming to come from the smallest things. God, had Mamoru wanted to step in as a shield for Mamiya and a security blanket for Kaito. To cover Kaito with reassurance. To wrap him in arms and understanding. Safe, protected, but still in the dark.

Ariga hadn’t let him. He thinks he owes him a thank you for that.

If he had gotten in their way, Kaito wouldn’t be here like this now. Sure, some days are better than others. And that’s ok. Progress is progress. Maybe he still has to help haul Kaito from the depths of his own mind sometimes, but it’s easier than before. There isn’t so much terrible weight dragging Kaito downward, dragging Mamoru downward when he reaches out a hand. Even more incredible are the moments when he can see Kaito catch himself. Pause, and slowly work his way back out of the labyrinth. Carefully retracing steps made while blindfolded by grief. Running hands along rough walls that had kept him closed off for so long, until he’s close enough to the exit that he can see the light of everyday of reality he had missed ready to greet him. Mamoru’s not sure anything has ever made him smile more.

“What do you think will happen to them now?” Kaito’s voice sometimes reminds him of drizzling rain. Soft, but each word splashing clearly against his senses. Soaking through him the longer he listens.

“Kaidou-san and Mitsumi-san?”

“Yeah. Now that they’ve graduated I mean.”

“They’ll have to go their separate ways.” Another Church rule that curls up inside him and sits against uncomfortable places. Cold and mucky, threatening to leave stains. “Get assigned solo missions.”

“They won’t be separated really.” Arms reach above Kaito’s head in a stretch, before he tucks his hands in-between the two of them. His fingers are often cold, this habit of warming them up has been around for a while.

Kaito isn’t saying this about Kaidou-san and Mitsumi-san for his own comfort, or to feed any delusions of what will happen to them if they survive until graduation. There is nothing but certainty present in his eyes. Kaito is surprisingly good at reaching out and capturing the fluttering truth of others between his fingers. Truth is delicate, and for as much as Kaito had disfigured his own he has always been so careful with that of others. Tracing a reply so soft as to not leave any permanent damage, or simply folding it away for future reference. For all the time he spends in the electric glow of a computer monitor he has amassed a seemingly endless library of human emotion.

“What do you mean?” He loves asking him questions. There’s something nostalgic about the way Kaito leaps at the chance to explain things to him. He slides over until their shoulders are pressed together.

“I don’t think it ends that easily.” His smile is as quiet as his voice. “I bet Kaidou-san has more of a sweet tooth than he used to. Mistumi-san probably laughs when he hears someone who’s complaining too loudly.”

For a minute Mamoru’s struck with a sense of fondness for their senior Sakura that tumbles into strands of fear and uncertainty. Tangling the pleasantness of Kaito’s words with the threats of their end. Church life is (mostly) fine. There are aspects he is less than thrilled with, but he’s alive. Kaito’s alive. They’re together. It seems wrong to complain, but looking forward can be frightening. Futures are especially slippery when you have no identity to stake a claim to one with. He inhales, too sharply if Kaito leaning into him is any indication.

“I think you’re right. Those two well-“ He laughs, it shakes his shoulders enough that some of the chill that always seems to permeate the walls of the Church slides off. “they’re something else.”

Kaito’s fingers knot in his sleeve. Not exactly tugging, more holding. Just enough pressure that he can feel the fabric hug against the muscles of his upper arm. “We were separated too.”

“Just because we had different Messiah doesn’t mean we were apart.” These words aren’t necessary. He no longer needs to reassure Kaito that he’s not going anywhere. But some habits are hard to throw away. Maybe because their remembered value is still too great to get rid of.

“That’s not what I meant.” He works the fabric of Mamoru’s sleeve back and forth between his fingertips before smoothing it down with careful, gentle strokes, until not a wrinkle is left. “I mean when I was-“

“Kaito, you don’t have to.” Even now he’s desperate to keep him away from there. If Kaito leans too far over the edge to look at where he’s come from, Mamoru is afraid he’ll fall again. He had tried to tether Kaito to him after _it_ had happened, but it… He couldn’t-

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Another thing he’s not used to. Kaito being the one to tell him it’s ok. “When I was really bad, I isolated myself. But I never felt apart from you.”

Swallowing is hard, smiling isn’t. There’s pain in watching Kaito remember, but also pride in his resilience. And something hurts a little less hearing that maybe he did at least as much good as he did harm during those years when he had thought Kaito to be too fragile to help. He had been too afraid that trying to pull him free would cause the rope binding them together to snap. That it would drop Kaito to where he would shatter. Smash him into thousands of pieces that would slice Mamoru’s hands should he try to put him back together. But Kaito has never been made of glass. There has always been someone alive in there, and Mamoru had let Kaito cause himself suffering because _he_ couldn’t bare the guilt of causing Kaito pain in addition to what he already felt. Does that make him selfish? Or is it simply a case of not knowing where to draw the line between your pain and someone else’s because that person’s agony might as well be your own?

He rests a hand on Kaito’s knee and squeezes. Nothing breaks, or cracks, or bleeds. “Yeah?”

“You were always there. Even when I wasn’t all there I remembered you.” He looks up at him from where he had allowed his head to loll onto Mamoru’s shoulder. “I wasn’t very good about it, but I tried to remember to take care of myself. Because getting sick would have made you sad. You always cared.”

_I still do, you know I do._

They have come a long way in discussing darker topics. But sometimes it’s still easier to divert, than it is to tackle these things head on. It’s not so much that he’s afraid, rather he doesn’t see the point in seeking out hurt when there are so many other ways to get the same emotions across. Kaito is smart. He always figures out these coded actions, and indirectly direct words.

“Are you feeling ok? You’re getting all sappy on me.” Mamoru shoves against him. Not hard enough to hurt him, no way. But enough that Kaito’s eyes narrow indignantly, and Mamoru finds a pillow swatting him in the face. Downy softness catches laughter and bounces it back into his own ears.

“You ruined the moment.” The complaint’s effectiveness is halved by Mamoru’s own humor infecting Kaito’s eyes with a spark that makes his chest tighten for a moment. This is the friend he had missed, and even more. More wisdom, more strength.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” It’s difficult to sound apologetic while trying not to grin.

“You’re not sorry.” When hasn’t Kaito known?

“Maybe not.”

“Of course not.”

The ease in which they toss fragments back and forth until they’ve formed a full thought to share between the two of them has taken practice. But the rewards are clear in the way he doesn’t think twice about draping his arm around shoulders.

Shoulders that are broader than they had been in the months right after they’d arrived here. Physical proof of mental growth. With every scrap of anguish Kaito replaces with honesty, he remembers to eat a little more. With every bit of anger that cools, skin regains warmth and color. With every ounce of guilt he begins to forgive, sleep becomes less afraid of embracing him.

Physical closeness is not a substitute for words, but it supplements them nicely. Allows them to exchange things that are maybe still a little too raw to speak of. Kaito will let him hold him like this, leaning against him in return. Any outside observer might believe the two of them to be taking advantage of a particular one of the Church’s special exceptions for Messiahs.

That’s not entirely accurate. This isn’t that sort of gratification. It’s about trust, and protection, and comfort. For so long he’d felt as though he couldn’t reach Kaito. Like his hands were slipping right through ghostly outlines, never able to grasp anything sturdy. Never able gather everything he wanted to say and press it into Kaito’s palms until he finally reached out to accept it.

He had thought he was going to lose him too. That tiny pieces of Kaito would begin to disintegrate, falling away in a thin stream of dust filtered by the fading light of life breaking through cracks. Kaito is tougher than that. He’s still here. But it’s still nice to hold him like this. To indulge in the solidness of bone and muscle wrapped up in the warmth of skin. And more than that it’s seeing the way Kaito _sees_ him, responds to his voice and touch in actual time.

No longer is there this lag of time where Mamoru pushes forward while Kaito pulls backward. It’s not one sided either, this growth. Haruto’s death is still heavy on Kaito’s mind, there’s still a loneliness looped around him that will never truly let go. But he has Mamoru, and they’re enough for each other.

And with Kaito’s progress Mamoru has finally been able to grieve Haruto properly. To acknowledge that he died (as in ceases to live) and move on from it. No longer does he have to play into Kaito’s illusion. That nightmare that had bent and twisted things inside of the two of them. That had wrenched delicate pieces of memories into a picture of agony disguised as happiness. Lies creating painfully sharp edges, and smiles painted too flatly in their attempt at brightness to be genuine.

He’s still not quite done grieving _everything._ They had lost more than Haruto. And that was not all Kaito’s fault. No, he had been just as much to blame. For putting the needle in Kaito’s hands that he had used to blind himself to reality. Mamoru had granted both allowance and the tools for Kaito’s downward spiral by not doing anything to stop it sooner. His own inaction and overthinking had been just as expensive as the consequences he had been trying to avoid.

If Kaito hadn’t met Mamiya when he did would he have continued down that path? Would he have spiraled inward and downward until nothing was left? There are many terrible ways to die. Mamoru thinks wasting away too nothing has to one of the most painful. Triple checking every single day to try and figure out which tiny bit of health or mind has disappeared, and never seeing it until it’s a gaping hole. Until the person you care for is hemorrhaging their will to live, and you can’t stop the bleeding.

Either he is too obvious in his distress or Kaito is too perceptive, because fingers pull his hand away from where he had been picking at his pant leg. The grip lingers after the nervous habit ceases. He focuses on each callous he can feel scrape against his skin. Maybe it’s strange to find the points where skin has been worn by gripping a gun comforting. But it’s not the memory of a weapon written into flesh so much as it’s the familiarity of the hand itself.

“It wasn’t your fault either.”

This freezes him for a second, capturing everything in a net of stillness that is only eluded by the sounds of their breathing and the soft ticking of the clock.

 _It wasn’t your fault._ How many times had he tried to convince Kaito of that? Many. How many times had he offered himself the same reassurance? Never. Because he _could_ have done more. He’d been devastated too, but not crippled the way Kaito had been. It had been up to him, and what did he end up having to show for it? Haruto dead, and Kaito losing his grip on reality. So for far as they’ve come since then he still can’t quite get his tongue around the words to agree with Kaito.

“I guess.”

“Mamoru.” Fingers curl into his shoulder and squeeze, “Stop. It was not your fault.”

“I know.” It might just be him, but the air he sucks in tastes distinctly sour. “I do. I know with Hauruto there was nothing I… But with you-”

“You did everything you could.” Kaito doesn’t talk over people often. Even this isn’t really talking over, his voice isn’t any louder. But it’s steady and unyielding. It curls around him, tugging arguments aside and putting a shaky smile in their place.

“I didn’t know what else to do for you.” There’s something between a laugh and a pre-cry in his voice. Both sounds bouncing around in his throat, neither quite strong enough to make it out.

“You didn’t have to.”

Sometimes Kaito doesn’t complete his thoughts. He starts down one path and then veers off onto another. This is not a bad thing per say. Occasionally Mamoru will reach for the fragments Kaito puts down, and try to hand them back to him. Get him to finish the puzzle. But now he understands it.

There’s no point in digging or picking at old wounds. It’s easier to just lean his head against Kaito’s and let his eyes slip closed for a few minutes. Take everything in without the assistance of his eyes. The soft sounds of his fingers tracing designs on a shoulder. The texture of hair against his cheek that he’s not sure would be better described as silky or fluffy. Even the smell that clings to Kaito hasn’t changed since they were kids.

Childhood is a distinctly bittersweet thought, constructed out of colorful blocks threatening to topple over.

Some things haven’t changed between them, but they aren’t kids anymore. They’ve killed people. Him more than Kaito, but still. Who would have ever thought that they would go from drawing pictures in finger paint, to gunning down terrorists and criminals? From playing computer games to hunting down intelligence. Strange things happen. It’s a lot to take in. How does he tell the kid inside him what he’s grown up to be, what his best friend has grown up to be… Would they be afraid or proud? This is a pointless train of thought going nowhere helpful. They have done what they needed to do.

And the Church may be using them, but it’s nice to have a Messiah. The whole concept is vaguely hard to follow at first. Five or so rules, some easier to swallow than others. He and Kaito were already best friends, and friends are a wonderful thing to have. But _Messiah_ that’s a heavy word. Ariga carried it pretty well, Kaito carries it even better. Surprising given his formerly fragile state, unsurprising knowing the kind of loyalty he possesses.

“I’m glad.” He’s not exactly certain where he’s going with this, but that’s fine.

“Hmm?” Kaito sounds as though he had been dozing. Voice laced with threads of sleep, and strung with a mild confusion. “About what?”

“That you’re my Messiah.”

Kaito shifts from his back to his side, nestling further into their pile of blankets. He reaches to lift the blankets up, so that Mamoru can slide under them. There’s a smile on his face that’s a touch of shyness reaching out to embrace a quiet happiness. “I’m glad too. I missed you.”

“You did well with Mamiya too.” He doesn’t need to look under the comforter to find Kaito’s hand and lay his on top of it.

“I was terrible to him at the beginning, but he tried anyway.” He’s still speaking calmly, clear in his reflection. The victory in this doesn’t go unnoticed.

“But you got better.” Always. Always, he will point out Kaito’s progress. Remind him he has so much to be proud of.

Kaito nods slightly, chewing on his lip for one second, then two. “Mamiya was a good Messiah. Ariga should appreciate him.”

Now there’s an interesting turn. Something that Mamoru has given fleeting thought to as Ariga’s former Messiah. How would those two get along? They’re both… Quiet? Quiet, but not in the same ways. Ariga is a steely kind of silent. He does not try to make himself small, or less noticable. He is merely there in all his unyielding glory. Standing as a steady support, but not volunteering much more than that.

Mamoru remembers talking enough for the both of them. It had started as him trying to fill the silence with something, anything. And then he had learned to watch Ariga carefully. The way his shoulders would straighten, or his fingers would curl when Mamoru brushed against certain topics. All very telling in the absence of spoken words. Then there was the matter not of what Ariga said, but of when he said it.

The question of a few seconds made the difference between whether the response was an offering, or an avoidance. Whether Ariga was trying to meet him somewhere in the middle, or was willing to say something so that Mamoru would be satisfied enough to stop pushing. It’s difficult to push on someone like Ariga, your hands start to get cold and progress is slow. But Mamoru had been doggedly determined to get to know his temporary Messiah. He prefers not to trust his back to strangers, and Ariga _will_ give something if you ask for it long enough. But he’s not sure that Mamiya is the pushing type.

Everything Mamoru knows about Mamiya is cobbled together from his own brief interactions, and what he’s picked up from Kaito. Mamiya is quiet like someone whispering. You know they’re speaking but can’t make out what exactly they’re trying to say. All you can really piece together is vague breaths of emotion, and an odd word here and there.

It’s distressing sometimes. To see lips moving yet not be able to understand. But Kaito is an excellent listener for as loud as his own thoughts often are. Able to amplify the voices of others, allowing them to hear and be heard. Ariga is probably more similar to screaming into a wall. Sound slamming against it, only to be crushed into useless flatness by its own weight.

“I’m worried about them.” Mamoru knows he shouldn’t be so concerned about those two. But he can’t shake the feeling that there is something fundamentally broken in their relationship. Something that has been splintered and shivering since before the two ever met. A lousy foundation to build any relationship on.

“They’re having a hard time figuring it out,” Kaito looks pensive, eyes fixing onto some unseen question that tips the corners of his lips down. A question that for all Kaito’s ability to work through problems doesn’t seem to have any right answers.

“They don’t have to be perfect just yet.” _Just good enough to not die._ The last thing he wants is for anyone else Kaito cares for to die. They might not get so lucky as to recover him twice.

“They don’t see each other.”

Kaito speaks pretty ambiguously at times, a trait that has been exaggerated by his brush with insanity. But Mamoru knows exactly the feeling he’s talking about now. It’s still mapped out on his own consciousness.

It had stung every time Kaito had looked at him in affirmation of his delusion. Because he hadn’t been seeing a person, rather a stained glass to look through. Outlines of a person surrounding vibrant colors that had casted a comforting tint on Kaito’s world. The lightness of their friendship softening the violent red of Haruto’s death into the pleasant pink of life. But glass cracks and reality slips back in. He’s still grateful that Kaito had survived that. There are scars from trying to reach through broken glass, but he’s going to be ok. Maybe some part of him had known all along that sweetly spun lies have to melt eventually.

“It takes practice. They’ll get it.” He tries to sound more confident than he feels.

Mamiya had done so much for Kaito, whether he knew it or not. And Ariga had forced Mamoru to realize that he cannot and should not be Kaito’s guardian, that that’s not fair to either of them. Their former Messiahs had done them so much good, but now the two of them can’t seem to do the same for each other. And that’s frightening. Because everyone knows what happens to Messiah pairs who can’t get it together. They end up dragging each other to the grave, two matching holes dug by handful after handful of misunderstanding.

One of his hands slides down to Kaito’s side, feeling the press of air against ribs. He counts along with each inhale and exhale. The rhythm is steady, and his fingers begin to tap along to it. Breathing is essential to life of course, but it’s more than that. It halts when frightened, and races when exposed to intensity. It catches in pain or pleasure, and shakes when emotion is so deeply rooted it seems to seep from veins into lungs. Yes, breath speaks without voice. It tells him his Messiah feels safe. There’s fulfillment bubbling up inside him, sweet and warm.

Kaito moves in closer still, fingers wrapping around Mamoru’s wrist and pulling his sleeve back a little. Mamoru knows this game, nodding slightly. Kaito’s index finger begins to draw on his skin just below his wrist. It tickles enough that his arm jerks a little before he forces it to remain still. Neither of them are particularly gifted artists, but they’ve done this for years. Taken turns drawing or writing on each other with finger tips that leave marks that are not visible but definitely permanent.

“Cat. Is it a cat?” He swears he feels finger nails scratch whiskers along his pulse.

“No. Try again.”

Kaito repeats the motions. It’s difficult to focus on the arch of one line grabbing onto the edge of another when the gentle strength in those hands has his mind spinning around thoughts of tomorrow, and tomorrows after. Of what will happen to them. Will they survive to graduation? Will one die? Will they both? What about afterwards…

The thought of Kaito having to face missions without him is nerve wracking, but more than that it prods around in his chest until it kindles a sort of anger. An anger that is normally kept smothered by the joy he tries to give to others. He’s surprised the Church doesn’t swallow itself up in a cesspool of its own rottenness. Treating people like weapons, and then tossing the gun to one place and the ammunition to another. Teaching them to depend on each other, and then breaking them apart. Gifting them a savior and then condemning them to hell.

His temper is scraped away by every line drawn on skin. Kaito had poisoned himself on the past, Mamoru won’t do the same with the future.

“Is it a mouse?” He’s not sure how he got cat the first time. The ears are definitely rounded.

“Yeah,” Kaito tugs up his own sleeve, offering his arm, “your turn.”

Mamoru cups the back of Kaito’s hand in his, lacing up fingers. This position allows him to hold Kaito’s arm steady, bracing it against his own. There are thousands of things he could draw. A flower comes to mind, but he’s not particularly interested in bringing images of falling petals into Kaito’s mind.

His finger starts moving before he has actually picked something. There’s no particular image he’s trying to recreate. Rather he’s just tracing memories into Kaito’s veins, and sweeping thanks across the curvature of the joint. Running _today_ halfway down to an elbow, before guiding  _tomorrow_ along Kaito’s lifeline.

“Mamoru.” He hears fondness as much as he sees it. “I think I know what it is.”

“Go ahead, guess.” Technically Kaito’s guess is as good as his, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s us.” There’s the faintest whisper of smirk curling one corner of Kaito’s mouth.

“Oh yeah? How’d you come up with that?” Honestly, all he’d done was mindless scribbling. He’s not surprised though. While all those numbers and codes that fill computer screens appear meaningless to him, they are filled with infinite information to Kaito. Why should this be any different?

“That’s what you were thinking about, right?”

“Sure, but I didn’t exactly draw anything.”

“You were close enough.” Kaito’s lips may only twitch, but his eyes are definitely laughing.

Mamoru provides the sound to match Kaito’s expression. It’s late enough that he’s trying not to be too loud, but laughter will always seem deafening in the Church. There are worst disturbances though. When you’ve grown used to thoughts smashed by gunshots, and peace wrung dry by funeral bells, laughing hardly seems to be of any consequence. And once he starts he can’t stop. Maybe’s it’s pent up tension forcing its way into relief, or all the tears he hasn’t allowed himself bursting out in a new form. Either way it’s contagious enough that his ears are treated with the sound of Kaito joining in.

His Messiah has a really great laugh, and a fantastic smile. Two things he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. Not for real anyway. That strange upturn of lips Kaito used to make when talking about (to?) his brother had not been a smile. Rather it had been a strangulation. Every time Mamoru had seen it, it had wrapped clammy fingers around his neck, squeezing until both of them were bruised and gasping. Funny how grief can take on a life of its own. Both violent and vulnerable in its existence, until it is finally forgiven for the pain it has caused.

When the laughter ceases Kaito’s eyes drop down, and his fingers grasp at the sheets trying to wring words from them. “You’re worried.”

Mamoru could brush it off, play dumb. But between the two of them they’ve done enough dodging of reality. “Yes. But it’s just normal stuff.”

Normal for the kind of life they live anyway.

“You can talk about it.” Kaito’s not angry, nor pressing. Simply offering to carry some of the weight. So many things only grow heavy after you’ve had to carry them on your own for a while. It’s a relief to be able to hand some of that off without fearing for the collapse that would have followed not that long ago.

“I’m happy.”

“And being happy makes you worried?” The raised eyebrow is a nice touch.

“Well I’m happy _now_ but,” This is frustrating. Fitting words together in a sequence that makes clear what he’s trying to express. He has no lines ready for this. His mantras of ‘it’s not your fault,’ and ‘try your best’ don’t fit now. Being on the receiving end of kindness is so much harder than giving it. “I guess I don’t want to get too comfortable.”

Kaito pokes him in the cheek, “This is comfortable, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” It is. And that’s a little nerve wracking. He had been comfortable before Haruto’s death. He had been comfortable before he watched Kaito lash out at Mamiya. He’s grown used to holding his breath, waiting for the punch line. There’s tension, and it’s not so much for himself as it is for Kaito. He’d heard Mitsumi-san lost two Messiahs. He’s heard of others as well. Their lives are cheap to the Church, but his Messiah is not expendable.

“So relax a little.” Fingers knead at his shoulders, before sliding down his arms to his hands. “You deserve it.”

“Only if you stay with me.” Mamoru pulls on Kaito’s shirt until they’re tucked into all of the empty spaces that had remained between them.

The eye roll is half-hearted, more in amusement than sarcasm. “Of course.”

And that’s all he can ask for. For Kaito to stay. Stay here, stay on the right track, stay with him. Kaito’s head is propped against Mamoru’s chest. The pillows would be more comfortable for him, but this is nice. Being able to feel breath steady and slow against his collar bone, and having the weight of Kaito draped over him. He has taken care of Kaito for so long that it had been easy to forget that they take care of each other. They’ve made it this far because of each other.

He’d think about how far they still have to go, but that brings up other questions. Time is dead for them. The Church has ripped the batteries out of their clocks and left nothing but flashing red lights yelling the hour they had disappeared from the rest of the world. Tomorrow and ten years from now are of little difference in the world they live in. He could be bitter; time seems to be something everyone wants more of. But Mamoru is content with this, holding on to his best friend, his Messiah. Not all things can be represented by a numerical passage of whatever minutes actually are. So maybe they don’t have time to measure out a future, but they don’t have it to measure out an end either. And that’s fine by him.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it. 
> 
> With this fic I wanted to write about the progress Kaito has made through Mamoru's pov. 
> 
> And to give some insight into some of Mamoru's not so upbeat thoughts and feelings. I call these two cinnamon rolls all the time, and Mamoru definitely does everything he can to look out for Kaito. But he's also got his own struggles that I thought deserved some attention. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to give Kaito an opportunity to be the one supporting rather than being the one supported (although this is still mostly a two way street)


End file.
